


Nokken Wood

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Series: Soft Stucky, Warm Stucky, Little Ball of Sass [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (I'm having trouble tagging this one yes), Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternative universe - rural urban fantasy, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Skinny Steve, Soft Stucky Week, but still soft, nokken Bucky Barnes, not quite as lighthearted as the summary sounds, supernatural creature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: When Sam's friend needs a house-sitter for his place in the country, Steve jumps at the chance. Six months rent-free to do nothing but draw and paint and wander the countryside, looking for inspiration? It was like a dream. But when he gets lost in a storm and nearly falls into a pond he starts to rethink the whole like a dream aspect of life in the country. And when a red-eyed, sharp-clawed, silver-fanged creature rises out of the darkness, Steve is one hundred percent certain the dream's morphed into a nightmare....until it gives him a cup of tea.(Inspired partly by this prompt a supernatural creature is supposed to scare you but instead it gives you a cup of tea and a blanket because you're having a bad day and you keep coming back and partly by this painting.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Soft Stucky Week](http://iamnotsebastianstan.tumblr.com/post/152264652360/hello-friends-so-i-made-this-post-saying-that), but it kind of wriggled away from me so it's not as soft as it was supposed to be when I started, I'm sorry, but it's all good by the end, I promise! 
> 
> Note: The nokken are malicious water spirits that take the shape of an attractive man or woman to seduce people into the water and drown them, and their waters are often planted with water lilies, the better to lure people in. I've played a little fast and loose with the mythology (jettisoned the musical aspect completely), but some legends do tell of benevolent versions and versions who fall in love with humans. Major thanks to Kiriei for listening to me babble about this one!

* * *

 

"Oh, this was a brilliant idea, Steve. Absolute genius. One of the best ideas ever. When they find your drowned corpse in the woods they can nod sagely and talk about damn city slickers not having the sense to come out of the rain." Steve was not having a good day. Steve, he'd go so far as to say, was having a bad day. With capital letters.

A Bad Day.

It had been nice when he'd come out into the woods to draw; better than nice, it had been bright and glorious, a perfect summer day. But the skies had darkened, the weather turning on him so fast it was like Steve had insulted its mother. He hadn't had time to do more than shove everything into his thankfully waterproof backpack and head for his truck before the rain had started. Not even a light, pleasant summer rain. No, the weather had decided to be an overachiever. Maybe it had someone to impress, Steve didn't know, but it had blown into a summer _storm_. Complete with thunder and lightning and ludicrous winds and it was _summer_ , why was the rain _cold?_

Except he was starting to think he'd gone the wrong way because his truck wasn't where he'd left it. Hell, the _road_ wasn't where he'd left it.

Shivering, Steve wrapped his completely inadequate and sodden jacket around himself and kept going, chin tucked into his chest, water streaming down his face. His shoes squelched with every step, but he wasn't going to let a damn storm beat him and it wasn't like there was another option besides _keep going_ , even if he could barely see a foot in front of him. All he could do was stay away from the trees, difficult since he was in the damn woods, and he thought maybe _this_ might be the right way...

A crack of lightning lit up the sky, revealing a black expanse of water.

When he'd left his pick-up pulled off the dirt road he hadn't been anywhere near water, which meant— _Great, now I'm officially lost. This day keeps getting better and better._ He turned in place, trying to decide what to do, visibility made even worse by the approaching dusk.

A sudden sharp sound, like glass dragging across slate, cut through the rain and the wind. He spun to see a tall, dark shape rising out of the dim light, red eyes gleaming fire, teeth like silver knives. 

Steve stepped back, fighting fear. His mind was trying to puzzle it out, but his body was screaming at him that this was _wrong,_ his spine and his skin and his gut all uniting to chant _wrong wrong wrong_ and _run run run_. He held steady. Running was dangerous. Steve might be a city boy, but the city was filled with two-legged predators and running was an invitation to be chased. "Hello?" he tried, voice not quite even, arms pulled tight around himself. He was a skinny drowned rat, he knew, couldn't possibly be any kind of threat to whatever this was. As it moved closer he saw a human shape, a human face, inhumanly beautiful, long dark hair plastered to its pale skin, and the sharp teeth, the red eyes, in that perfect face were shocking.

Steve scrambled backwards and it followed. Steve swallowed hard, not willing to turn his back, kept moving. His foot landed wrong, he flailed desperately, heart pounding, would have fallen, but a clawed hand caught his arm, he could feel the pressure of sharp points through his jacket but they didn't break through. It steadied him, dropping Steve's arm like it was on fire as soon as Steve caught his balance, and moved to stand between Steve and the worst of the driving rain.

Steve stared.

The whatever-it-was seemed to be changing, its face morphing, teeth blunting, eyes fading from red to intense blue-grey, the colour of the storm. "You shouldn't be out here," it was saying. _He_ was saying.

Steve kept staring.

"I can, there's a place." He stopped and Steve was still staring but his shock was shifting, sliding, softening at the edges into curiosity because this whatever-it-was seemed uncertain, seemed _shy_ , and Steve suddenly felt a real kinship with Alice. If a talking cat showed up, at this point he thought he might just roll with it. "You can get out of the storm."

"So I should, what, come with you?" He couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

He tilted his head. "It would be better than staying here." Still uncertain, as if he wasn't quite sure of what he was saying.

"What happens if I say no?" Steve had to ask.

"Then you stay out in the storm."

Lightning cracked overhead and Steve winced at the rolling thunder that came with it. He wasn't sure he'd seen what he'd seen. Maybe he'd imagined it. Maybe he'd— _No, you didn't_ sang his flesh and his gut and his spine. No, he hadn't, but the hand on his arm had been gentle. He'd kept Steve from falling. Maybe Steve was dreaming. Maybe none of this was happening. "Okay."

"This way."

In a daze, Steve followed the...man through the rain as he led him away from the water. It didn't take long before they were approaching the road, which rose above them over a huge cement drain, tall enough for them both to stand beneath. Just being out of the rain was a relief. When he stopped there, under the arch of the drain, and paused, looking at Steve, Steve thought maybe he was homeless. Maybe he _lived_ under the road. Maybe Steve _had_ imagined everything, shadows and reflections from the lightning. Maybe...

No.

He was touching the wall and gesturing Steve through and now Steve was standing in a room. A living room, Steve thought. He brushed Steve's shoulder and Steve was bone dry. "How?" Steve turned but there was a solid wooden wall behind him. "What?"

He shook his head. "Sit? I'll make you some tea."

"Tea. Okay." Steve sat on the perfectly ordinary couch, brown corduroy, slightly worn. Soft and comfortable and solid and _ordinary._ Steve patted it like it was a faithful dog. The room was large, with doors leading off of it. His...host? His host had disappeared through one. The floors were golden wood, looked soft like butter, the walls made of the same wood, one completely covered with shelves filled with books, well-read judging by their tattered spines. There was no art. _That_ Steve noticed. It made him sad. The chair across from the couch was huge and overstuffed and a particularly strange shade of green.

"Here."

Steve looked up from contemplating the chair to see a teacup, an actual porcelain teacup, white with gold around the rim, steam curling off the top, being held out. His host was tall, broad-shouldered and well-muscled under clothes as ordinary as the couch—jeans, a deep blue sweater, feet bare—but he was quiet as a cat, long dark hair falling over his face.

"Thanks." Steve wrapped his fingers around the cup and closed his eyes to breathe in the heat. He opened his eyes with a start when he felt warmth settle over his knee. A blanket. There was a blanket on his knee.

"You looked cold," was the soft explanation and his host settled in the green chair, not quite looking at Steve.

"Uh, thank you again." Steve was kind of not certain any of this was actually happening, but he put his tea on the floor and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He picked the cup up and it felt real. He sipped and the tea tasted real, was warm and strong and sweet. The blanket was comforting and he snuggled a little deeper into it. "Can I ask where we are?"

"Better if you don't." Disappointing, but somehow it was the answer Steve had expected.

"You were different before, though, right? I didn't imagine that?" Much different. Red-eyed and sharp-clawed and Steve was sure there'd been _fangs._

His host studied him from under long eyelashes, head tilted, and then nodded very slightly.

"Right. And I'm not dreaming?"

The faintest glimmer of amusement flitted through those grey-blue eyes, a fish in deep water, there and gone. "Do you usually dream of things like this?"

"Not usually, but maybe I ate some bad cheese or something."

"You're not dreaming."

"What happens now?" Two raised eyebrows sought clarification. "I mean, this isn't normal. Something strange is going on. Do I," he gulped down some more tea, "do I get to leave at the end of it? Or..."

"Or what?"

"Or I don't know. You were definitely a lot scarier when I first saw you. Is this like a witch with the candy cottage thing?" The eyebrows were now thoroughly confused. "You know, Hansel, Gretel, she invited them in and was fattening them up to eat?"

"Yes, I brought you out of the storm and gave you tea and a blanket because I'm going to eat you." It was flat but there was something in the way he moved, in the way his eyes were cast down, that told Steve he'd, not offended... Steve thought maybe he'd hurt him.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just really confused." Steve leaned forward and, stretching his arm out, just managed to touch his arm, making him pull away, eyes wide and startled. "I _am_ sorry. That was a really horrible thing to say. Forgive me?"

He searched Steve's face and Steve looked back, open and apologetic, and was rewarded by the smallest of nods. "Do you want some more tea?"

"That'd be great, thanks." Steve drained what was left in his cup and held it out. "I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers."

After a long look, in which Steve felt he was being measured and weighed against some standard he couldn't begin to guess, his host inclined his head and took Steve's cup. "You can call me Bucky."

"Bucky. Nice to meet you, Bucky."

Bucky disappeared through the door and returned a short time later to hand Steve another cup of tea and say, "People stay away from the pond."

"Do they?" Steve sipped his tea. It was as sweet and strong and real as the last one.

Bucky nodded.

"Well, I'm not really from here, so I guess I don't know the rules." Bucky tilted his head. "No one mentioned anything about the pond. And anyway, I didn't deliberately come here. I got lost in the storm."

"Why were you out in it?"

"It wasn't storming when I started. It picked up while I was out in the woods, came on too fast for me to get back to my truck and then I guess I got turned around. I'm still not used to finding my way around in the countryside." Bucky didn't say anything, but he canted his head in a way that invited Steve to go on. "My friend Sam's friend Riley lives out here. He's away so I'm housesitting while my other friend's friend's cousin and her girlfriend sublet my apartment." Bucky's eyes had glazed over slightly and Steve wasn't sure if it was from boredom or confusion. "Basically, I'm taking six months in the country to draw and paint while I look after someone else's house."

"You're an artist."

"Not famous or anything. I make enough money to keep myself in rent and ramen." Bucky's eyebrows drew down in confusion. "Noodles. They're cheap and you know what, it doesn't matter."

"I've never met an artist before."

"We're not that exciting." Bucky nodded, not like he was agreeing that Steve wasn't exciting, Steve thought, more to show he was listening, and they drifted into silence. The room was warm and the blanket around his shoulders was soft and cosy and as the silence continued, surprisingly unawkward considering the circumstances of the room's questionable existence and his host having had claws and fangs and glowing red eyes, Steve had trouble keeping his eyes open.

"Steve."

His name was coming from very far away.

"Steve." He opened his eyes. His teacup was gone. Bucky was saying his name. "The storm's gone. You can go back to your truck."

He'd fallen asleep. He couldn’t quite believe it. Rolling to his feet, he stood and stretched. "Okay. No, wait, not okay. I got lost, remember?"

"Where were you when you got lost?"

Steve told him and Bucky nodded. "Follow the road. It's not far."

"I guess I probably could have figured that out on my own, huh?" Bucky didn't reply, just gestured and Steve followed him to the wall which shimmered and then Steve was standing on the dirt at the bottom of the drain. "Will I see you again?" There was no answer and the curve of the drain was solid cement. Steve ran his fingers over it but there was nothing there to find.  "Bye, Bucky. Thank you."

 

* * *

 

Of course Steve couldn't leave it alone. The first thing he did was buy a pie.

"A whole pie?" Gemma, the woman who ran the bakery, gave him an incredulous look. "Where are you going to put it all?"

Steve pulled up his most charming smile. "You'd be surprised and your pies are hard to resist. Can't get anything like them in the city." He'd learned pretty fast he couldn’t go wrong with that trick.

"Oh, you sweet talker." She bustled around and boxed up one of her cherry pies, tying the box up in string and passing it over.

Pie on the passenger seat, Steve drove out to the stretch of road that ran over the drain, parked in the field and studied the water, which turned out to be a large pond, surface rippling in the light breeze. He was glad he hadn't fallen in. Turning, he walked over to stand in the huge drain under the road where the impossible had happened.

"Bucky?" He waited. "I brought you a thank you gift. I don't know if you like pie, or if you like cherry pie if you do, but it's good." Steve sat down on a nearby rock. "I don't know if you can hear me, or see me, but I figure maybe you can. You must have known I was out there in that storm."

Steve waited, humming quietly, then pulled out his sketchbook. After an hour, he decided Bucky wasn't there or he wasn't coming out. "All right, I give up. For now. I'll be back. I'll leave you the pie. I hope you like it."

He also left the sketch he'd been working on, a rough but recognisable picture of Bucky, _sans_ claws and fangs, which he folded up and tucked under the pie box.

 

* * *

 

The library had an entire section on the town's history, but nothing specifically on the pond, so Steve asked the librarian. "Oh, _that_ pond," she said knowingly.

"Uh, yes?"

"It's haunted."

"Haunted."

"That's right."

"Okay." Steve waited, but she didn't seem inclined to give him any more information. "Haunted by what?"

"By a ghost." She peered at him over the top of her glasses. "What else would it be haunted by?"

"I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit more about it? It might be interesting to try and work it into one of my paintings." She showed a minor amount of interest at that. "And of course I'd put your name in the acknowledgements."

Paintings weren't like books, they didn't _have_ acknowledgements, but she either didn't know that or was entertained by his sad attempts at blandishment—Steve assumed it was the latter—and settled in to tell him the tale, such as it was. "No one really knows whose ghost it is, all anyone knows is that it's haunted. Everyone who's seen it says the ghost's a pale nightmare of a thing, red eyes like the devil. Don't go in the pond, don't go near the pond, the stories all say you'll regret it if you try."

"Has it ever hurt anyone?"

"Well," she leaned forward on her elbows, "some say it has and everyone knows someone who knows someone whose grandpa's uncle's cousin twice removed was ripped limb from limb or drowned in that pond, but I keep the records in this town and as far as _I_ know no one's ever been killed out there. No one's ever even been hurt that they didn't bring on themselves by running around like a damn fool, but people listen to the stories and they stay away."

Steve felt even worse about what he'd said to Bucky. Was even more determined to visit him again. He figured the worst that would happen was he'd spend a few hours talking to himself. Considering what the librarian had said, it wasn't like anyone would hear him and hell, even if anyone did half the town already thought he was a bit odd, wandering around and drawing pictures. Most of the people he'd met here had a much more practical approach to life.

 

* * *

 

"Did you know they think you're a ghost?"

There was no answer but Steve hadn't expected one. He settled down on the dry dirt at the bottom of the drain, his back against the curved wall, and propped his sketchbook up on his legs. "I brought you something to eat. I don't see a box so I guess you took the pie. And the sketch. Did you like it?" He'd brought a bag of apples this time, picked off the trees at Riley's place, pink and sweet and he'd polished them until they glowed.

"The librarian told me the pond's haunted. By a ghost. She was very clear on that," he added with a laugh. "A nightmare of a thing with eyes like the devil, which just tells me that people around here can be kind of dumb." He paused, tapping his pencil against the paper. "Except if you hadn't, uh, changed and I'd had to explain you, I might have gone for ghost, too, I guess."

Steve fell silent, the sounds of the country washing over him, a bird crying somewhere in the distance. "Still not coming out, huh? I'll just stay for a bit, see if you change your mind."

This time he drew a self-portrait, a caricature with huge eyes, staring over the top of a teacup, and he chuckled as he ripped it out of his sketchbook. He looked kind of ridiculous. "Here, maybe this will make you laugh." He tucked it under the bag of apples and climbed to his feet, stretching to work out the kinks in his back. "I sure wish you'd come out and talk to me," he said softly. "Bye, Bucky. Maybe see you next time."

 

* * *

 

Bucky listened to Steve talking to him from the other side of the wall. It was nice. Bucky wanted to open it and invite him in. Wanted to ask him more about what people thought about the pond. _A ghost_. The few people who'd seen him, he'd just been trying to keep them away, just like he'd been trying to do to Steve until he'd realised how bad the storm was. He didn't think anyone would leap to the pond being haunted.

Still, better people thought it was a ghost than knew what was actually living out here.

When he was sure Steve was gone, he opened the wall and stepped out. His eyes fell on the paper and he slipped it out from under the bag. When he saw the picture of Steve, looking more like an owl than any human had a right to, long skinny fingers clutching a teacup, he laughed. He opened the bag and saw the apples, pulled one out and admired the colour, took a bite and closed his eyes at the sweetness.

These were gifts, left for _him_. Steve had drawn that picture just for _him_ , might have done the same with the last one. It brought a rush of warmth, warmth and something like longing.

He _wanted_ Steve to come back. _Wanted_ to invite him in. _Wanted_ to talk to him.

He couldn't have that. It might not be safe.

When Steve came back—and Bucky had no doubt he'd be back—he'd have to scare him off. The thought made his skin crawl with unease, but he wasn't sure what else to do to make him stay away. 

 

* * *

 

A few days passed before Steve returned and it was approaching dusk when he made his way under the road, long shadows stretching out to greet him. He ran his fingers over the wall, tracing the smooth curving cement with one hand, a paper bag in the other. "Hi, Bucky. Hope you're doing okay."

There was no sound. No shuffle of feet in the dirt, no warning that he wasn't alone. Just a turn and movement and he was being propelled backwards. It was Bucky, but Bucky as he'd first loomed out of the dark, fangs bared and red eyes flaring, clawed hands pinning him to the wall.

Steve swallowed hard, but he wasn't scared. Not...quite. Wary, yes, but not scared. He couldn't move, but Bucky's claws weren't hurting him. There was coiled strength in Bucky's body, pressed so close he could feel his chest moving with every breath, but he could _feel_ Bucky being careful.

Bucky wasn't going to hurt him. He wasn't certain of much in the world but in this moment, right here, he was certain of that. Steve made himself relax. "Hey, Bucky."

Bucky froze, then he blurred and was entirely human. His hands were still on Steve's shoulders, his body still leaning into Steve, his size, his strength still pinning him in place. "Why aren't you afraid?" Bucky's confusion, his bewilderment, made Steve want to gently pat his hand.

"You made me tea. In an actual porcelain cup. You gave me a blanket. It's kind of hard to be afraid of you after that." Steve gave in to the urge and touched Bucky's hand. "And you weren't trying to hurt me. It's not okay what you just did, and I need you to not do it again, but you didn't hurt me and I could tell you were trying not to."

Bucky jerked away from Steve, hands curled against his chest.

"Were you trying to scare me off?" Bucky tilted his head and lifted one shoulder. "You can just tell me to go away and I will." Steve watched him closely. "I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable by visiting you. I thought." He paused, choosing his words with care. "I thought maybe we could be friends?"

Bucky winced.

"Is that not okay?" When Bucky didn't answer, Steve asked, "Do you want me to go?"

"No," he admitted, sounding like it was being dragged out of the depths of him.

"Then I won't," Steve said easily. "Hey, did you eat that pie?" 

Bucky nodded once. "It was good pie."

"I told you. Maybe I told you. I'm not sure if you were listening or not."

"I was listening," Bucky admitted. They lapsed into silence, Steve not wanting to push, willing to give Bucky as much time as he needed. Scuffing the ground with his toe, obviously going through some sort of internal struggle, Bucky finally looked up at him from under a fall of hair. "Do you want some more tea?"

"I'd love some more tea." He held up the bag. "I brought cookies. Chocolate chip. Not homemade, but they're from the bakery so they're better than I could manage."

Bucky smiled and even as small as it was it lit up his face. He approached Steve and hesitated, then leaned over him and traced a pattern on the wall. With a small gesture, he urged him backwards and when Steve complied, he was standing in Bucky's living room, Bucky standing in front of him.

The wall behind Bucky was solid wood. Both of Steve's sketches were up on the wall and Steve laughed when he saw them. "You kept them!"

"No one ever drew me pictures before," Bucky said, turning to touch each of them like they were precious. "Of course I kept them."

"I'll draw you all the pictures you want. Just tell me what you like."

"Anything, anything would be nice."

"Okay, I'll surprise you." Steve settled on the couch, looking around the room. It was the same as last time he'd seen it, neat and tidy, warm with the golden wood on the walls and floor. Bucky went through the door Steve figured must lead to the kitchen and he guessed the other doors must lead to Bucky's bedroom and the...bathroom? He wasn't sure of the other door. For all he knew it could lead to another world.

Bucky came back with two cups of tea in one hand and two plates in the other, holding them out to Steve. The incongruity of the delicate cups still surprised Steve as he took a cup and a plate. He took two cookies from the bag and held it out to Bucky, who also took two and sat them on his plate. They sat looking at each other, plates perched on their knees, teacups in hand, and Steve started to chuckle. Bucky stared in confusion. It just made Steve laugh harder. "Sorry," he said, waving a hand. "Sorry. I feel like I'm at my grandmother's, what with the teacups and our plates on our knees and the sort of awkward silence. Any moment I'm expecting you to ask me if I've found a nice girl yet or if I've finally got a real job."

Bucky still looked puzzled, but Steve could see amusement lurking under the surface. "Should I ask you those things?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Have you found a nice girl yet?"

"No, and I haven't found a nice boy yet, either, but it's not for lack of trying."

Bucky nodded, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Keep trying? I'm sure you can do it."

Steve hid his smile behind a bite of cookie. "Nice pep talk," he said when he'd finished eating. "Keep going," he encouraged. "Next question."

"Have you finally got a real job?" Bucky frowned. "Isn't being an artist a real job? You said you made money."

A wave of unexpected fondness flowed through Steve. "Now you're doing both parts of the conversation. Which is good. I can eat my cookie and you can talk to yourself." Bucky turned a puzzled look on him. "Eat your cookie." Bucky obediently took a bite, a pleased smile appearing at the taste, and Steve said, "Some people think art doesn't count as a real job because it's just drawing pictures." Bucky looked over at the pictures stuck to his wall, the rough sketch Steve had done of him and the wide-eyed sketch of Steve, and scowled. He bit down on his cookie with force, chewing it as if it had offended him, and Steve nodded. "I agree completely." 

They fell silent, sipping tea and eating their cookies, and Steve weighed it up. Wondering. Bucky was leaning back in the green chair, one hand loose on his knee. "Bucky." He looked at Steve expectantly. "Can I ask...what you are? Or is that rude. I'm not sure what the etiquette is here. I know you're...something." Something strong with sharp teeth and sharper claws. Something that could shift shape and look human. Something with a maybe-magic home.

All expression dropped off Bucky's face, leaving it blank and cold. "You'd better go."

"Bucky. I'm sorry—" He stopped. Bucky was closed in, closed off. Steve nodded. "Okay. Is it all right if I come back?"

After a long moment, he said, "You can come back."

 

* * *

 

Bucky swam through the dark water of the pond, the moon overhead casting silver light across the water's surface. He was a failure. An abject failure. He'd not only failed to drive Steve off, he'd invited him in. He'd given him tea. Even though Steve had asked what he was—Bucky shuddered at the thought of Steve knowing—he'd still told him he could come back.

Steve hadn't been afraid, not even slightly, and the crawling shame Bucky felt at having tried to scare him was a weight in his gut. He wouldn't try again. Not just because Steve had told him not to, but because he didn't want look at Steve and see fear.

He should have told Steve to stay away, but he was just so tired of being alone.

Bucky dove down to the bottom of the pond, lay with his back brushing the soft weeds, legs kicking gently to keep himself in place, tendrils of hair curling around his face. Steve would leave. He'd be going back to the city. In six months he'd be gone forever.

Maybe...maybe just for this little while, if he was careful, it would be all right not to be.

 

* * *

 

"Bucky?" Steve stood uncertainly under the drain, a big paper bag in one hand, backpack over his shoulder. "Are you here?" He waited. Bucky had made him leave so abruptly, but he'd also said he could come back. "I brought food and I thought, if you wanted, I could draw you something."

There was a long silence, broken only by the wind whistling through the trees and the sound of the water lapping against the shore, and then Bucky was standing there. "Hi, Steve."

"Hi, Bucky. I brought lunch?"

Bucky sniffed the air, looking pleased. "It smells good."

"Burgers. Do you want to eat out here? We could go sit by the pond, enjoy the day?"

Bucky flinched like Steve had struck him with a lash. "Not the pond."

"Okay, not the pond," Steve soothed, not sure what was wrong with the pond, but he wasn't going to push. "Under the trees, then?" Bucky's eyes flicked from Steve to the trees and back, like Steve had asked some complicated question only the heavens could answer but finally, slowly, he nodded.

They settled among the gnarled roots of an old oak and Bucky ate his burger like a man...like a something that had never tasted one before. Steve had sprung for the over-the-top loaded specials and Jeremy at the diner had gone all out. They had piles of bacon. They had reams of cheese. They had a fried egg. They had more calories than anyone needed and possibly a one-way ticket to the emergency room somewhere in their consumer's future.

They were _amazing_. Bucky's expression as he ate was something Steve could only describe as blissed out.

"Good?"

Bucky's smile was pure delight and when he was finished, he leaned back against the tree, hands folded over his stomach, calm and content.

"Good."

Steve was sitting cross-legged next to him and, after cleaning his hands, he pulled his sketchbook and pencils out of his pack. "You relax. Try not to fall asleep. I'm going to draw you something. Any requests?"

"Could you." He stopped. Steve wasn't sure what was coming, but the last time someone had looked that nervous about asking him to draw something it had been furry porn. "Could you draw me," Bucky hesitated, then finished all in a rush, "a water lily?"

Steve blinked. "Uh, sure. Just one?"

"Just one. Please." The please was so soft it was barely above a whisper.

"Of course." Steve pulled out his phone for a reference, because he wanted to get this right, and started to draw. The light from the afternoon sun was golden, falling across his paper, the branches of the tree swaying softly above them, and he could feel Bucky's presence next to him. He half expected Bucky to watch, but he didn't, stayed leaning against the tree, and when Steve glanced over, his eyes were half-lidded and he was staring into the sky.

"Bucky?" He sat back, studying the picture. A single water lily, delicately shaded, and he suddenly wished for colour, for paint, for _watercolours_ , so he could make it perfect. "Is this what you wanted?"

There was a little intake of breath and Bucky touched the page with one finger. "Yes."

"It's yours." Steve carefully pulled it out of the sketchbook and handed it over.

Bucky traced the line of the flower, not touching the paper, and he smiled at Steve with a warmth Steve had never seen. It took his breath away. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Bucky."

The next time he visited, the lily wasn't on the wall with the other two pictures. Steve was disappointed but he tried to hide it. He didn't know if Bucky could tell or if he just wanted Steve to know, but Bucky said, "It's in my room. So it's the first thing I see when I wake up."

That was when Steve knew he was in trouble.

 

* * *

 

They fell into a routine after that. Steve would come out and they'd wander the woods together, crossing fields, cutting through orchards, stopping to watch the birds, the trees, the clouds, while Steve captured it on paper. There were rarely any animals around when he was with Bucky, he hardly ever saw a rabbit or a deer or even a loose farm dog, but there were always birds, hopping from branch to branch, scolding and calling and fluttering between the trees.

If Steve tried to lead them near the pond, Bucky would shy away. When Steve gently asked if he was afraid of the water, Bucky went silent and still and walked off, disappeared through the wall.

Steve didn't ask again and made sure their meandering path always meandered _away_ from the pond.

They were sitting in Bucky's house one evening, drinking tea, when Steve, after considering it carefully, wondering if he was treading on ground he should avoid, asked, "Bucky, how does this work?"

"How does what work?"

"This, your house."

He didn't answer right away. Steve wasn't surprised. He would have been more surprised if Bucky _had_ answered, because he was certain the answer was going to be: magic. Which didn't exist. Except that Bucky was a fanged and clawed _something_ in addition to being a startlingly attractive man and he walked them through a wall to reach a house that couldn't possibly be real, except that it was. It had to be magic. There was no other explanation and Steve had made peace with it.

He'd also resigned himself to not getting an answer, was simply relieved Bucky hadn't told him to leave, when Bucky said, "It's a pocket dimension."

"What?"

"My house. It's a pocket dimension."

"Oh." Steve was strangely disappointed. "I thought you were going to say it was magic."

"It is magic, it's made from magic. It's anchored under the road to the wall of the drain, but it exists somewhere else, somewhere not quite here. Not quite anywhere."

Belatedly, Steve asked, "Should you be telling me this?"

"Probably not." Bucky's smile was a little sad. "But it doesn't matter."

Steve took that in, not sure what to do with it, not sure why it didn't matter, but he did know how to respond. "I won't tell anyone. Not that anyone would believe me if I did, but Bucky, I wouldn't tell anyone. Not about this and not about you."

"You can't get in without me. Anyone who tried would just find a wall. If they knocked through it they'd just find dirt."

"But you believe me, right?" It was suddenly very important to know that. He leaned forward. "That I wouldn’t tell anyone about you?"

Bucky looked away, turned his teacup around in his hands. "I believe you," he said softly.

Relief poured through Steve like a wave, settled in his heart, pushed him farther down that troublesome path he was trying so hard not to walk. Only heartache lay at the end of it. "Thank you."

 

* * *

 

This was a mistake. This had been a mistake. Steve had been a _mistake._

Bucky dived to the bottom of the pond, as deep as he could go, and stayed there. It was impossible for him to drown. Right now, he half wished he could. Turning, he stared at the sky. Obscured by the depths of the water the moonlit clouds wavered and rippled as they scudded across the sky.

He looked at Steve and he _wanted_. He wanted more. He wanted to keep him. He wanted him not to go. He wanted to forget what it was like to be alone.

He couldn't have any of it.

The water lily he could never again have in reality—he couldn't; he missed them, but he _couldn't—_ sat at the end of his bed, a source of comfort. Steve had done that. Steve kept giving him things...Steve kept _giving._

 _But you believe me, right? That I wouldn’t tell anyone about you?_ Bucky wondered if that would hold true if Steve knew he was dealing with a monster.

 

* * *

 

"I never know if the locals are messing with me or not," Steve murmured as he lay on his stomach in the grass, eyes shifting between the paper and the bird in front of him. He wasn't worried about it moving. It seemed to know Steve was drawing it and it was posing like a supermodel.

"Hmm?" Bucky was stretched out beside him, a careful foot away, eyes closed, basking in the sun.

"John at the store said I needed to bring a gun with me if I went out into the woods."

"Why?"

"Bears. Wolves. Mountain cats. Rogue elk. Hillfolk. Woodchucks. Rabid chipmunks." He glanced at Bucky. "You name it, according to the locals it wants to eat me. Apparently the woods are teeming with dangers and it's a miracle I haven't been killed yet." The bird whistled angrily, as if sensing it had lost Steve's attention, and Steve turned back to it. "Hang on, hang on. Jeez, you're pushy." The bird chirped and tilted its head and Steve laughed as he captured the line of its beak. "Attention-seeking birds, maybe, though the worst they could do is crap on you."

"You don't need to worry."

"So they are messing with me."

"No. Dangerous things live out here. But I'm with you."

"You'd protect me?" Steve was teasing, but as he turned his head to look at Bucky his smile faded.

Bucky's eyes were deep and dark, glints of red in their depths, and Steve swallowed. He was trapped, couldn't breathe. Bucky's hands clenched, claws digging into the ground. The bird exploded in panicked flight, crying a warning, and Bucky blinked. Steve was free.

Bucky looked away. "I wouldn't let anything hurt you," he said, voice low.

Heart racing, Steve turned back to his drawing. He took a quick, calming breath, another, and realised he hadn't been scared. Just overwhelmed, because he believed Bucky. He _believed_ him. If something tried to hurt him, Steve knew, like a fundamental truth of the universe, that Bucky would protect him. It made everything he'd been trying not to feel rise up and shove itself right in front of his face, a little voice screaming: _you like him, you like him_. The little voice needed to catch up on current events, because Steve was damn sure he a hell of a lot more than _liked_ Bucky.

A quick glance showed him Bucky looking uncertain, folding a leaf over and over between his hands. Steve wanted to bump his shoulder against Bucky's, but he didn't. Wanted to lift the leaf away and take his hand, but he didn't. Instead he simply smiled, as warm and as reassuring as he knew how, and said, "I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, either."

It pulled an answering smile out of Bucky and Steve tried to finish the bird from memory.

 

* * *

 

Being with Bucky was a little like being a kid again, summer holidays and freedom. He was Calvin with his own personal Hobbes, except Steve _knew_ his imaginary tiger was real and, unless he'd really missed something in the comics, Calvin had never wanted to kiss Hobbes.

Steve caught himself more and more wanting to kiss Bucky. Not just kiss him. Take his hand. Lean into his side. Touch him. Hold him. But Bucky was skittish about being touched, was wary about Steve getting too close.

It didn't stop Steve from wanting to.

He still didn't know what Bucky was. Bucky wasn't human, he knew that much, but he realised it didn't matter. He didn't care. Bucky was Bucky, entirely and uniquely himself, and that was enough for him.

 

* * *

 

Bucky dove into the water like he was being hunted and laughed darkly as he broke the surface. The water was his comfort, his sanctuary, but right now it was just reminding him of what he was.

He had to tell Steve.

Bucky liked Steve. He liked him too much. He wanted to _touch_ _him_ and that was not okay. Steve had become so much more than just _not alone._ He'd settled into Bucky's heart. Steve was so good, he needed to know what he was friends with. If Bucky didn't tell him he'd be a monster by deed as well as birth.

Except once he knew, Bucky would lose him. Steve would look at him with disgust. With fear.

Bucky swam to the bottom of the pond and curled into a ball, the soft weeds wrapping around him a pale echo of the touches he wanted to offer Steve.

He was going to miss him so much.

 

* * *

 

Steve was smiling as Bucky let him in through the wall. "Do you want to come into town with me?" All of their time together had been spent in Bucky's home or wandering together in the woods and fields. Steve had never asked Bucky to come with him anywhere else, but he thought this was something Bucky might enjoy. "Not _into_ town, not quite, but the high school's putting on movies in the park. Well, movies in the cow field, but they're taking out all the cows. We could sit in the back of the pick-up with some blankets and..." He trailed off as he took in how Bucky was sitting. _Where_ he was sitting.

He was on the couch in Steve's usual spot. His hands were folded in his lap. His head was bowed, his eyes downcast.

"Bucky? What's wrong?"

He lifted his head and his eyes were deep and sad. "I'll miss you."

"I'm not leaving for another few months." Steve did his best not to think about it, because the idea of leaving Bucky made him _ache_. "Did something happen?" He moved closer, halting abruptly at Bucky's sharp headshake.

"Do you remember when you asked what I was?"

"Yes." Steve slowly lowered himself to sit in the green chair, apprehension creeping up his spine.

"I'm ready to answer you."

"You don't have to tell me," Steve said firmly. "You're Bucky. That's all I need to know. Nothing else is imp—"

"No. You should know. You need to know."

Bucky's voice was flat and Steve wasn't sure if Bucky wanted him to say yes or no, but he kept his voice soft and said, "Okay, Bucky. I'm listening."

"I'm a nokken."

Steve wanted to be able to say something meaningful, something to take that sadness from Bucky's eyes, but all he could offer was, "I'm sorry, I don't know what that means."

"It means." Between one breath and the next Bucky changed, the hesitation, the sadness flowing away, leaving him blank-faced and empty-eyed. "It means I'm a killer."

Steve went still. "No. I know you."

"But you don't. I never told you what I was because I knew what it would mean." A ripple ran through Bucky and his eyes glinted red. "Nokken are predators. Killers. Not for food, not for safety, just to kill. We hunt in lakes and rivers, in _ponds_ , and what we hunt is humans. Humans like you. We lure them to the water and we kill them. We plant water lilies to make it easier, to get them to come closer. Not just men and women. Children. Children come close to pick the flowers and..." There was a tearing pop as Bucky's claws pierced the couch.

Steve went cold, nausea roiling in his gut. "You mean you—" He couldn't finish. It might make him a coward, but he couldn't say the words.

The silence stretched between them, Steve's heart beating like a rabbit's, and just as he was getting ready to break it, Bucky spoke. "I was supposed to. I couldn't. I couldn't kill them. They were just like us." It was barely above a whisper. "I left. I ran." Wherever Bucky was, it wasn't here. He was a million miles away, staring into a past Steve couldn’t see. "They chased me down. I fought. I got hurt, but I got away." 

"You wouldn't let us go near the pond." It wasn't what he'd meant to say, but the words crept from his mouth without his consent, reaching out for Bucky.

Bucky jumped, eyes shifting to meet Steve's. "Water's where we hunt. What if I—" His claws faded and he curled his hands into fists. "You might not be safe. If we went near the water you might not be safe."

Steve's heart was cracking, he could feel it shattering in his chest, shattering for Bucky. "How long ago did you run?"

"Almost seventy years."

It shocked Steve. Bucky didn't look much older than _him_. But it didn't matter. In the face of everything else it didn't matter. "Have you been alone all that time?"

After a minute, Bucky gave a small nod. Heart aching, Steve stood, crossed the room, and sat next to him. Bucky twitched as Steve rested a hand on his arm. "What are you doing?"

Moving slowly, giving him all the time in the world to pull away, Steve carefully, gently, hugged him. "I'm giving you a cup of tea and a blanket."

"Why?" It burst out of him as he held himself rigid in Steve's hold. "I told you what I am, what we are."

"You did. And you told me what you chose not to be. That's what counts. That's what matters." Steve held him a little tighter. "You're not alone anymore." Bucky shivered and Steve held on, whispered, "It's going to be okay," and then Bucky turned and leaned into him, pressed his forehead against Steve's shoulder, dragging in deep, shuddering breaths.

Steve rubbed his back, ran his hand in long strokes down Bucky's spine, murmuring soft things, comforting things, gentle things, and Bucky pressed closer. Quietly said, "Steve," in a voice laced with disbelief. "I thought you'd be afraid. I thought you'd leave."

"No. I told you, you gave me tea and a blanket, it's hard to be afraid after that." Steve brushed Bucky's hair back, tucked it behind his ear. "Your people? They might be killers, but you're not. You made a different choice. Instead you rescue idiots from storms." It was barely there, but the corner of Bucky's mouth twitched the tiniest bit. "I'm the idiot, in case you were wondering." It twitched again, lifted a little. "I must have looked like a drowned rat."

"You kind of did." Bucky admitted, the corner of his mouth curving up.

"And you still saved me from the storm. Because you didn't want to leave me out there." Steve rested his chin on top of Bucky's head.

"I was going to chase you off, but you could have been hit by lightning. And you looked so cold." Hesitantly, like he expected Steve to make him stop, Bucky's arms crept around him and he nestled closer.

"So instead you rescued me and I followed you into your impossible house." Steve slowly ran his hand down Bucky's back. "And I've never regretted it." Bucky lifted his head and Steve could see the question on his face. "You're one of the best things that ever happened to me." Bucky's surprised joy caught at his heart and when Bucky resettled himself, cheek against Steve's shoulder, the little voice piped up to whisper _you love him, you love him._ Once again it was well behind current events, because Steve had long since figured that out.

 

* * *

 

Now when they walked through the woods, Steve looking for things to draw, Steve would bump his shoulder against him. Steve squeezed his shoulder, touched his hand, his back, his arm. Gentle touches, comfort and warmth and _I'm here_ and _you're not alone_ and Bucky was _happy_.

The first time Bucky had tentatively brushed Steve's shoulder, he'd snatched his fingers away, half expecting Steve to, to, he didn't know. Steve had stopped, turned, picked up his hand and deliberately set it on his shoulder. Said, "You can touch me if you want. I'll let you know if you do something I don't like. Okay?"

Bucky had nodded, and Steve had nodded back, and they'd kept going, like Steve hadn't sent his heart into a spiral in his chest. After that he grew bolder, would gently touch Steve: back and arm and hand and it was okay because Steve knew what he was. That's when Steve had started touching him in return.

Steve didn't look at him with fear. Steve didn't look at him with disgust. Steve smiled at him and touched him and settled even deeper into Bucky's heart, where he'd never be washed free. Steve was joy and love and Bucky knew he was going to leave, but until then he would treasure every second.

They'd sit together on the couch, knees, elbows, shoulders brushing. It was good. It was beyond good. There was a part of Bucky that thought this was wrong, that someone like Steve shouldn't be touching something like him, but then Steve would speak, drowning it out. He'd feel Steve's touch, and it was hard to hear that part of himself over the rapid beating of his own heart.

Steve had given him a gift beyond measure and he had nothing to offer in return. Except...

"Steve?" Steve glanced up. "Could you come here?" Steve did, coming to stand next to Bucky in front of the wall that was the crossing to the world. "Can I have your hand?" Steve held it out, no hesitation, did nothing but smile a little, eyes warm, when Bucky wrapped his fingers around it. It made his heart skip. Gently, Bucky pressed Steve's fingers against the wall, murmured a few words in an ancient language not his own, and drew Steve's fingers down and around in a curving pattern, feeling the magic of the house flare in response, recognising Steve.

"Bucky?"

"Now you can come and go whenever you want."

He was still holding Steve's hand, unconsciously rubbing circles on Steve's palm. Steve stepped closer and Bucky knew he should let go but he didn't want to. "You gave me the key to your house?"

Bucky nodded.

"I don't know what to say."

"Thank you?" Bucky suggested, tone a little dry, because he'd also discovered the joy of teasing Steve.

Steve rolled his eyes and squeezed Bucky's hand. "Thank you very much, Bucky," he said, deliberately formal, but his voice was warm, his eyes were warm, he was warm and Bucky let go of his hand and put some distance between them before he did something stupid.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had given him the key to his home, to his magic house. He'd held onto Steve's hand and Steve could still feel the brush of Bucky's thumb against his palm. It made him want to shiver. Bucky touched him a lot now. Seemed happy when Steve touched him and Steve was more than happy to oblige.

It made him wonder.

It made him wonder if he was on his own in feeling _more_.

But he didn't even know if nokkens, if they... For all Steve knew maybe they reproduced by budding. Bucky _looked_ like an incredibly attractive man, but he also grew fangs and claws and his eyes glowed red. Steve knew there were plenty of predators that mimicked their prey, the better to lure them in, and wow, was his brain ever doing its best to distract him from what he was thinking about doing. He took a deep breath. "Bucky?"

"Yes?"

"When humans give someone a key to their house, it's usually because they're feeling more than friends about that person. Is that, do nokkens do that? Feel more than friends about each other?" Bucky looked at him blankly. "If humans like each other as more than friends they spend time together doing special things together, just the two of them, is that something nokkens do? Or," this was going so badly, he was screwing this up, Bucky was staring at him in utter confusion, "if, do you, do they—" He stopped. Carefully considered his feet, which declined to offer their assistance. He _should_ have let his brain distract him. It had been trying to save him from his own awkwardness.

"Steve?" Bucky touched Steve's arm. "I'll answer whatever you want, but I don't understand what you're asking."

"I guess." He squared up his shoulders, lifted his chin. He'd already thrown his dignity to the winds; he may as well toss caution after it. "I'm trying to find a nice boy." He paused, then added, "You're the nice boy."

He saw the exact moment Bucky understood. The exact moment he put together Steve's awkward, pathetic, fumbling questions with his declaration, such as it was. "Really?" It was hopeful, his eyes were wide, and he moved closer, not quite touching, but Steve could feel the heat of his body.

"Yes, Bucky. _Yes_. So much."

Bucky's heartfelt, joyous, " _Oh,_ " crashed through him like a wave.

Carefully, like Bucky was made of spun glass, he reached up and cupped his cheek. "Do nokkens kiss?"

Eyes slipping half-shut, Bucky leaned into Steve's touch. "If they love someone they do."

"Humans do, too." Steve grasped each of Bucky's hands and lifted them, kissed each palm, felt Bucky's fingers curl to touch his cheek. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Bucky's wrists and felt Bucky's pulse flutter, heard his sudden intake of breath.

"Steve." Sliding his fingers through Bucky's, Steve leaned up and kissed Bucky's cheeks, the corner of his mouth, pulled back a little. Bucky's eyes were soft, but they held something tentative, like he couldn't quite believe, and Steve brushed his lips over Bucky's like a promise, like a gift. Bucky sighed against his mouth and freed his hands to wind his arms around Steve and pull him closer. "You shouldn't, I'm—"

"You're not and I should. I do. I love you." He nudged his nose against Bucky's and after a second, Bucky smiled. Steve's lips curved in an answering smile. "You said something about kissing?"

Red flared in Bucky's eyes and he kissed Steve, nipping gently at his bottom lip, teeth blunt and careful, as he slid a hand to curve around the nape of Steve's neck. Steve pressed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Bucky as he opened his mouth under Bucky's, felt his start of surprise, and then Bucky's tongue was brushing his as Bucky's hand pushed under his shirt, seeking skin.

Steve lost himself in their kiss, dragged himself closer, fingers digging into Bucky's hips. Bucky's hands were hot against his skin and Steve could feel his coiled strength, waiting to be unleashed. It sent heat flashing through him. "Steve?" Bucky whispered against his mouth. "When we love someone? We do other things, too."

 

* * *

 

Steve redid the water lily, painted one in watercolours, pink and gold and glorious green. He thought he understood a little better why the first one had meant so much. Bucky obviously loved them, but they were terrible memories, innocent flowers turned to evil ends. He made it as bright and joyous as he could without tipping over the line into gaudy. Steve wasn't sure what to expect when he gave it to him. He hadn't expected the long silence. He hadn't expected Bucky to hold him so tightly and not let go. To kiss his temple and whisper thank you.

Bucky put it at the end of his bed in place of Steve's sketch. The sketch joined the picture of Bucky and the picture of Steve on the wall that was the doorway to the world. Steve saw the painting every morning because there wasn't a night that went past he didn't spend with Bucky. They only had so much time together and Steve wasn't going to waste a second of it.

There wasn't a night that went past he didn't wake to Bucky slipping from the bed to walk naked out of the bedroom, only to return hours later and curl around Steve. "Where did you go?" he asked the first time.

Bucky took a long time to answer. "To the pond."

Water was important to Bucky. Steve wanted to ask _Can I come with you?_ but he remembered _You might not be safe_ and he didn't ask. Not because he was afraid of Bucky, _never_ because he was afraid of Bucky, but he knew Bucky was afraid.

As the nights slipped past, as Steve knew, beyond any doubt, that he loved Bucky like he'd never loved anyone and that Bucky returned his love with a fierceness that was more than human, he realised maybe he'd made the wrong decision. And one night when Bucky slipped naked out of bed, he asked, "Can I swim with you?"

Bucky froze, wide-eyed. Steve sat up and reached for him. Took his hand and held it. Bucky's fingers clenched around his. "Steve. You don't know what you're asking."

"I think I do." Steve stood, as naked as Bucky, and leaned against his shoulder. "You're not human. You're a nokken. The water's part of you. I love you and I know you love me. I know you're afraid of yourself, of the part of you that lives in the water, but I'm not. I trust all of you."

Bucky shivered like a tree in a high wind. "It's not that simple."

"No. I know, and you can say no. But for right now maybe it can be. Take me swimming. Show yourself I'm safe with all of you. Trust yourself the way I trust you. Know that all of you is not a killer, the way that I know." Bucky searched his face and Steve knew if he found even the slightest doubt, the slightest hesitation, this would be over before it began. But Bucky wouldn’t find it because it didn't exist. In this moment Steve was made of faith.

Bucky bowed his head, was silent for a long time, clinging to Steve's hand like a lifeline. Finally, he let out a long breath. "You need shoes or you could cut your feet walking there."

"I don't need clothes?" Bucky shrugged. "Just shoes, then."

Steve had to hold back a giggle at the thought that if anyone saw them they'd have made quite a sight: both of them bare-ass nude—his skinny body in just a pair of sneakers and Bucky's beautiful, flawless self—walking hand in hand through the dark field to the pond.

"You go in first."

Steve understood why Bucky didn't want to wait for him in the water, like he was trying to lure Steve in. He didn't argue, just kicked off his shoes and waded into the pond. The moon was high and full, the water cool and clean, and he stopped when it covered his shoulders. He turned to face Bucky, could see his uncertainty in the way he was holding himself. "It's okay, Bucky," he called. "Come in."

Bucky hesitated, then dove into the water and slowly swam closer, moving with unconscious, sinuous grace, like a predator, like a creature who belonged. He stopped out of reach, watching Steve, then closed the distance and lifted a hand to touch him, wonder in his eyes. Steve slid his hand along Bucky's back, resting it between his shoulder blades. Bucky pressed himself against Steve, nuzzled his nose against Steve's neck, folded his arms around him, holding tight. Steve hugged him and held him close, whispered, "You're okay," against his wet skin.

With a long, slow exhalation, Bucky said, "You're safe. You're safe here. You're safe with me."

Steve combed the wet hair back from Bucky's face. "Yes."

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Bucky." Bucky pulled away, dipping low in the water to gaze up at Steve. He was uncanny, otherworldly, dark hair floating on the water's surface, red glinting in the backs of his eyes, and at the same time he was simply Bucky and when he held out his hand Steve didn't hesitate.  

Steve wasn't the best swimmer, but he didn't need to be. He had Bucky. Bucky moved through the water like a wave taken human shape, slipping under Steve to support him if he flagged. When Steve tired, they floated on their backs to stare up at the moon.

"We could plant a water lily in the pond." Steve didn't look at Bucky as his mind whirred, racing ahead. "Just because it's beautiful. It wouldn’t have to be anything else."

"Maybe," Bucky said after a time.

Steve's heart was pounding. Wondering. Hoping. _Maybe maybe maybe. Please please please._ "Or when I go back to the city, there's a park about half a mile away from my apartment. It has a lake, a bit bigger than the pond. The lake has lilies."

"Steve?"

"You said your house was anchored here. Can you anchor it somewhere else? Is that difficult?"

"No, it's not difficult."

He could feel Bucky's gaze on him, but he didn't turn his head. He was afraid to look. "Could you anchor it in an apartment?" He kept his eyes on the moon, as if she might help him out.

"Yes."

It was a hopeful _yes_ , a hopeful tone that shivered through Steve and made him turn his head to meet Bucky's eyes. They were filled with the same hope as his _yes_ had been _._ "Would half a mile away from the lake be too far?"

"Are you asking me to leave with you?"

"I am, Bucky. I love you. I won't lose you now that I've found you. If that doesn't work, if it won't work, I'll move somewhere else. Somewhere that'll be good for you. Maybe I can find somewhere to live here. Wherever you want, whatever you want."

Bucky moved, the water barely rippling, so he was upright next to Steve, and studied his face. Then he lowered his head to kiss him, slow and deep, one hand cradling Steve's head in the water, leaving him breathless. "Yes." 

"Yes?"

"Yes. Yes to your lake, to your apartment. Yes. I love you and I get to keep you. I never thought I'd get to keep you. I'm not letting you go."

 

* * *

 

Not too far from Steve's apartment was a sprawling park and in the centre of the park was a lake. Over the years it came to be regarded as slightly strange as city lakes went. Despite the high number of swimmers, no one ever drowned. No one ever came close. The water lilies grew almost all year round and they were lush and beautiful. Children lost in the park were always found safe and sound, playing happily by the water's edge.

And if you visited it at night when the moon was high, if you stood just so and you looked just right, you might see watchful eyes staring back at you from the dark water.


End file.
